Phantoms
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #78 Jim Kirk finds a way out of the Nexus, but what will be his state of mind? Will the continuing lure of that fantasy world prove too much for him? (Guinan also plays a role in this story.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Jim Kirk was splitting wood for the fireplace and enjoying it.

 _Strange,_ he thought. _All my life I've detested this particular chore, yet here I am swinging away with a smile on my face._

Pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow, he drew in a deep, cool breath of mountain air. Idaho was beautiful this time of year. The morning sun shone on his uncle's sturdy log house—a two-story affair that blended in nicely with the surrounding woods.

He stared at the upper story. _No. Wait a minute. Uncle Lemuel lives in a cabin._ This was not Plum Creek, but some property he had once owned. And now he was staying here with his current lover.

The axe slid from his hand and struck the ground with a thud. His memory awakening, he rushed into the house. Something was burning. In the kitchen, he snatched blackened bread from a toaster and put in fresh slices. Cracking blue-shelled eggs into a pan, he added salt and a touch of dill weed, and scrambled them. Then he buttered the toast and poured coffee. Placing everything on a tray, he headed upstairs, for today was T'Beth's birthday.

Balancing the tray with one hand, he opened the bedroom door and walked in. A pungent odor of horse manure filled his nostrils. The tray was no longer in his hand. A gray Appaloosa stallion nickered from a stall, and Jim went to him.

"Good boy," he said, stroking Warcloud's noble head. "You want to go for a ride, don't you? You want to get out and run."

Jim saddled the stallion. Mounting up, he headed out of the stable. Warcloud danced with impatience until Jim gave him the reins. Then they were cantering down a wide, easy trail that snaked through the hills. Heart beating fast, Jim leaned low over Warcloud's streaming mane. He felt young, trim, and strong. He could ride like this forever.

All at once, hoof beats sounded behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of a slim, dark-haired woman atop a golden Palomino.

 _Was it a race she wanted?_

But the sight of his paramour put different thoughts into his mind, and he drew back on the reins. Warcloud reared in protest. By the time Jim could dismount, T'Beth stood by her horse, waiting for him. They kissed playfully, and the sweet pull of her Sy energy set his blood aflame. Jim drew her into a stand of trees, and they made love in the soft grass.

Sometime later he awakened, fully clothed. The hot Arizona sun felt good, and he stretched languorously on a lounge chair beside T'Beth's pool. His mouth watered at the aroma of grilling steak. Putting his hands behind his head, he looked over at Spock, who sat beside him wearing the outdated blue tunic of a Starfleet science officer.

There was a splash in the pool, and children's laughter. Jim turned at the sound and discovered his daughter Tru playing with Spock's daughter, Teresa. It made him smile.

"Look at those two."

"Indeed," Spock said agreeably.

Jim wondered how his Vulcan friend felt about Tru. After all, she was living proof that Jim and T'Beth were intimate.

"Daddy, watch me!" Tru called out.

He glanced her way again, then did a double take. Tru was paddling alone in the water.

Bolting from the lounge, he called out, "Tru! Where's Teresa?"

Tru swam to the edge of the pool and said, "I don't know, Daddy. She was here a minute ago."

Spock did not seem concerned that Teresa was missing, and it infuriated Jim. He had a feeling that Teresa had gone missing before.

"She's your daughter!" Jim shouted at the impassive Vulcan. "Don't you even have any feelings about _that?"_

When Spock made no response, Jim went to the water's edge and dove in, clothes and all, searching beneath the surface. He came up in a slow-moving river and swam to the bank where Warcloud waited, ears pricked forward. Swinging into the saddle, he rode up a gravel track that meandered through a California canyon. As he continued searching for Teresa, the sun rose high overhead. The air smelled of warm vegetation and trail dust.

Mile by mile, the road deteriorated until the deep erosion forced Warcloud to step carefully. They entered a clearing. A man dressed something like a pirate stepped out of a weather-beaten shuttlecraft. His long black hair was pulled back from his handsome, arrogant face.

"Khan!" Jim knew him instantly. Dismounting, he strode toward the killer. "Khan, what have you done with Spock's daughter? Where's Teresa?"

Khan stared at him in maddening silence. A hot breeze swayed the trees as Kirk approached the shuttle's entrance. Flies swarmed, and there was a smell of death. Revolted, he drew a phaser and stepped inside.

Jim pulled up short. Spock's Spartan quarters were impeccably neat, like Spock himself. Light from an attunement flame flickered over the alcove where the Vulcan sat in meditation. Alerted to Jim's presence, Spock opened his eyes.

Jim did not remember why he had come to Spock's quarters, but it was good seeing his friend behaving in a traditional Vulcan way. He said, "I'm glad you've left that Yanashite cult behind. I mean, there's nothing wrong with a little religion, but sometimes it got downright embarrassing. I could never quite wrap my mind around it. No offense, Spock, but…"

"A Vulcan," Spock reminded him, "has no ego to bruise."

 _Yeah,_ Jim thought. _Right, sure._ There was a twinge inside him, and he expressed the strange feeling aloud. "Something is wrong."

Spock stood. "Wrong, Admiral?"

"Something about this…right here…the two of us."

"I see nothing wrong," Spock reassured him.

Abruptly Jim turned and exited the Vulcan's quarters. He stopped midway through a living room and stared at the Native American baskets arranged in a neat line on a fireplace mantel. His eyes rose to a painting of himself mounted on horseback. He stepped closer. Even without his glasses, the artist's signature was crystal clear: Antonia Cordova.

The name seemed familiar. A friend of T'Beth's? Or was she something more?

As if conjured by his thoughts, T'Beth came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.

"Hungry?" she asked.

He seemed to smell steak grilling…somewhere. Turning, he studied her hazel eyes and said, "This isn't right."

She laughed. "Why? Because of my father? I'm a big girl now, remember?"

Jim tried hard to remember. That was the problem. He could not seem to remember anything clearly. He had been at her pool in Arizona…or had he?

Slipping from her arms, he went over to a window. He could see Tru playing with her ducks near the old barn, where an overnight cloudburst had left a puddle.

A sudden, dark shape loomed up. Something slammed into the window with startling force, but the glass held. Recovering his wits, Jim stepped out on the porch and found an injured quail fluttering helplessly. The members of its covey were calling to it from every direction. Tru, a great lover of birds, appeared beside him and cried, "Help it, Daddy!"

As Jim watched the bird struggle, a bizarre thought made him back away. _This is me. I'm this bird, ramming against the glass, helpless to stop myself._ "No," he said aloud, "I'm not." He repeated the words slowly and firmly. "I…am…not…this…bird."

Somehow, talking to himself stirred a dormant sense of reality. Something _was_ wrong. He had said it before, he was certain. And suddenly he wanted to go home. But wasn't this ranch his home? Wasn't Antonia Cordova his wife?

Jim stared at his reflection in the glass—not a window, but a mirror. Aloud, he asked, "Am I insane?"

"Crazy?" Doctor McCoy snorted. "Jim, there's not a damn thing wrong with you…aside from your weight creeping up a bit."

Jim turned from the mirror and glanced around the _Enterprise_ sickbay. He gave his gold uniform tunic a tug, then went up to the bridge.

Settling into the center seat, he ordered, "Uhura, send a message to Starfleet Command…" But he did not know how to frame it. _Starfleet, something is wrong…?_

"Come on, Jim," he said under his breath, "you've been in plenty of tight spots before."

From the science station, Spock looked at him. "Captain. Did you say something?"

"You know damn well I said something," Jim snapped.

Right on cue, the Vulcan eyebrow rose. Like a puppet. But suddenly Jim wondered, _What if they aren't puppets? What if all this is real? Keep this up and I can kiss my command goodbye._

Rubbing at his jaw, he leaned forward. Spock and Uhura gazed at him expectantly. "Never mind," he said, headed for the turbolift and the welcome privacy of his quarters.

It was a short ride to deck five. The turbolift doors slid open and he entered a vast, illuminated cavern featuring abundant plant life and a distant waterfall. A young man with fair, curly hair stepped toward him.

Jim's heart lurched. His son was alive! "David!"

"Dad!" David's strong arms crushed him in a quick embrace. "Dad, I knew you'd show up!"

Jim could not take his eyes off him. _Oh, what did it matter where his son came from? It was David…and he was here!_

David said, "I've got a little house around the corner—come see. Are you hungry?"

Jim nodded. He could not remember his last meal, but there was an aroma of meat grilling.

"Steak," David said, leading the way. "You like steak, don't you? It's almost done."

They arrived at a prefab hut and talked while they ate. Jim did not question how it was that David had the food ready. What good did it do to question any of this? With his last bite of steak, he decided that he would never leave. He would remain here in the Genesis cavern and David would never die under a Klingon knife. Together, they would reclaim the lost years, before David even knew that Jim was his father.

With that thought in mind, Jim closed his eyes. He opened them and found a tousle-haired boy of seven grinning at him.

"Daddy," the boy said.

Jim's throat tightened with emotion. His son was beautiful.

Young David jumped up from the table and caught hold of his hand. "Daddy, come outside. I want to show you something."

Jim happily followed the boy to a lantana bush near the hut. Colorful little butterflies flitted over the bright orange blossoms. It was a magical place—one of Jim's favorite haunts on the farm where he grew up. Smiling, he reached toward a perched butterfly and caught it by its closed wings. After a moment he let it go, watching it flutter into the cloudless Iowa sky.

 _Someday,_ he thought, _I'm going to fly,_ _too._ Like his dad, George Kirk, who died in the service of Starfleet.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he felt among the small toys and pulled out his prized miniature of the starship on which his father was serving. Holding the ship high, he arced it through the air, pretending he was aboard, at the helm, flying it far across the galaxy.

A hand appeared out of nowhere and snatched the toy away. Jim whirled and came face to face with his big brother, Sam.

Outraged, Jim yelled, "That's mine! Give it back!"

Sam laughed and took off running. Although Jim knew that his brother could easily outdistance him, he chased after Sam and the pilfered starship, out past an equipment shed and a field of ripening corn.

"You'll be sorry!" Jim shouted.

The ground rushed beneath his feet. To his amazement, he began to gain on his brother, until Sam was just beyond his fingertips. With a sense of triumph, he leaped forward and knocked Sam into the dirt. Sam wrestled Jim off his body and leaped to his feet.

Jim landed flat on his back and looking up, beheld the grinning face of his Academy nemesis. "Finnegan!"

"Nice try, Jimmy boy," taunted the handsome upperclassman.

Jim hooked Finnegan's leg and knocked him off balance. Then they were rolling in the grass, landing punches until weariness overtook them. It was an enjoyable fight. Afterward, they lay side by side, gazing into the tall trees at the Academy grounds in San Francisco.

Somehow Jim knew that those trees should be underwater. Somehow he knew that San Francisco no longer existed. With a sigh, he said, "I want to go home."

Finnegan rolled onto an elbow and stared at him. "Leave the Academy? So you're a quitter, is that it?"

Irritated, Jim said, "I don't want to leave the Academy—I just want to go home."

"But that makes no sense at all."

Jim got up and straightened his cadet uniform. He focused hard on a single thought: _I can do whatever I want, and I want to go home._ Determined, he set off walking toward the hangar. As his plan began to solidify, his pace quickened.

Finnegan bounded after him. "Jimmy boy, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking up a Phantom."

"But you're not fully certified—you have no clearance—they'll kick you out!"

Jim experienced a pang of uncertainty and slowed down. Since earliest boyhood, he had wanted to attend Starfleet Academy like his father. Now was he about to throw it all away?

Finnegan said, "You're nuts, Jimmy! Go ahead then—run back home to your mama. A plowboy, that's all you are!"

Jim whirled to confront the annoying Irishman, but he was gone. The Academy grounds were gone. Jim stood in the hangar beside a sleek, space-worthy Phantom Star. His heart began to race. _You're going home…hold tight to that thought…get on board…do it now…do it while you can._

Climbing in, he sealed the hatch behind him and settled behind the controls. A touch of his hand, and it powered up. _Fully fueled. Good._

As Jim taxied from the hangar, two men in coveralls ran toward the Phantom, waving their arms wildly.

A voice burst over the com system. "S-12, stop and identify, you are not cleared for takeoff. I repeat, S-12, stop and identify, you are not cleared for takeoff…"

Jim silenced the com and moved the Phantom toward a landing pad. There he activated its thrusters, lifted off, and angled into the sky. _Increase power!_ He aimed for a puffy white cloud. An instant later, it was below him. As he headed through the upper atmosphere, the ship began to lurch and an alarm sounded. Sensor readings poured in. A strange, fiery tendril caught the Phantom and hurled it out of control. The ship spiraled into the blackness of space.

Jim struggled to shake off a sudden sense of disorientation. Under his hands, the ship steadied. It was free of the turbulence. Checking the rear view, he could see the disturbance behind him, writhing like a monster. Earth was nowhere in sight.

"What the hell…" he muttered. But he knew that energy ribbon, for he had seen it from aboard the _Enterprise B_ during its maiden voyage, had rushed down to Engineering in an attempt to free the ship.

Getting a grip on himself, he consulted the navigation computer and discovered that he was in the Orion system. The confusion returned in force. His hand trembled as he opened the com and listened.

A signal was coming through. "… _Curie_ hailing Phantom Star S-12. Please respond. This is Starfleet science vessel _Curie_ hailing Phantom Star S-12. Can you respond?"

Jim's mind reeled. _The Curie? Out here, hailing him in his little Phantom?_ But all Starfleet ships, no matter how small, carried a distinctive signature. If the _Curie_ was nearby, it could easily scan the Phantom and identify it.

He checked the sensors. Though they had suffered some damage, he managed to verify the presence of another vessel. It was relief to know that he was not out here alone.

" _Curie_ ," he responded, "this is James T. Kirk aboard Phantom Star S-12, requesting permission to dock."

A pause. Then, "Phantom Star S-12, this is _Curie_. Kindly activate your com screen."

Jim brought up a captain's image and recognized the man immediately, though he did not know him by name.

The captain's eyes widened. "Kirk! It _is_ you!"

Jim nodded. "My ship sustained some damage."

"I can well imagine," said the _Curie's_ captain. "Prepare to dock."

oooo

"One year, eleven months, and ten days." Jim spoke the words slowly as he worked to absorb their impact. He lay on a diagnostic table in the _Curie's_ little sickbay while an attractive female doctor examined him. Under other circumstances, he might have indulged in some flirtation, but just now his mind was fully occupied. "One year, eleven months, and ten days," he repeated. "Doc, you're kidding me. Have I really been gone that long?"

She stopped what she was doing and gazed down at him. "Yes, sir. Apparently you were drawn into the Nexus when the Enterprise hull breached."

Yes, he remembered the breach. "So all that time, they've been searching for me?"

She hesitated, then very gently said, "Captain. The _Curie_ is here studying the Nexus because of its destructive potential. Almost no one believed that it could support human life. After the accident, you weren't reported missing—you were reported dead."

 _Dead!_ That explained the looks of astonishment from everyone he encountered. As Jim struggled to process the startling information, the doctor went on to other matters.

She said, "Physically, your stay in the Nexus doesn't seem to have done you any harm. You're in better than excellent health."

"Better?" Jim questioned.

"I've compared your present status with your health records. The Nexus seems to have suspended the natural aging process."

"What?" Jim sat up.

"Oh, it was only temporary," she explained. "Your cells are behaving normally now."

He swung his legs off the table and let them dangle. So everyone thought he was a goner. His mind reeled from the growing influx of reality. A wife…Antonia. His daughter Tru. Lame Wolf, his Native American ward. The horse ranch in Idaho. And intermixed with them all, the tangled images of the Nexus…

 _One year, eleven months, and ten days…_

"Captain." The doctor was watching him closely. "Captain, are you feeling alright?"

Numbly, he nodded.

oooo

The call left Antonia in a state of shock. _Jim alive!_ So Spock had been right, after all. Now Jim had found his way out of the Nexus and confirmed the fact with a brief message forwarded to her by Starfleet. He sounded healthy. He looked wonderful. And he was on his way home.

Shaken, she froze the image of her lost husband and stared at the screen. As Sam played at her feet, a thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. She was glad that Tru and the boys were at school, glad for this time alone before the first press release triggered an onslaught of publicity. Closing her eyes, she offered a brief prayer for strength. _Jim alive!_ He had every right to reclaim her affection, but in his absence, her feelings had undergone a change. Not that she no longer wanted him. No, her heart throbbed with an astonishing love…even while it yearned for another.

As always, the thought of Spock aroused a strange mixture of shame and desire. She had never intended to love him in that way—not as a woman loves a man. It was the loneliness that did it, driving her to divulge her feelings to him, and now both Spock and his wife knew her embarrassing secret. Not that they would deliberately tell Jim, but secrets sometimes had a way of slipping out.

And what of Jim? In the Nexus, had he given up hope of ever returning? Had he found others trapped like himself? Perhaps one special person, someone who…

She stopped her speculation. The lonely days were over. Jim was coming home—to her—and nothing else mattered.

oooo

Tru stared at the antique clock between the Indian baskets on the mantel, willing the hands to move faster, but it kept ticking at the same excruciatingly slow pace. Through an open window, she could hear Lame Wolf working a young horse in the paddock. Mama was off with Sam, meeting her father, but Tru had not wanted to go where strangers could watch them. Her stomach felt queasy and her palms sweated at the thought of seeing him face to face. Would he still love her? She was not the cute seven-year-old he remembered. Nine now, she was taller, thinner, and a lot more serious. She had gone to his funeral. She had given him up for dead. She had learned how to live without him.

Tru heard a groundcar and her heart seized. Jumping from her chair, she hurried to the window. She could see him from here—opening the car door, getting out from behind the controls. A great pain filled her chest. Panicking, she turned, ran upstairs, and hid herself in her bedroom.

Outside, Jim stood beside the car and let his eyes slowly take in the scene. Home looked almost the way he remembered it. This ranch, this family, belonged to him. Yet everything felt so strange.

It had been an awkward drive, with Antonia jumping in to fill every lapse in their conversation. And then, like so many other people, she had asked, "What was it like in the Nexus?"

"Just like this," he had found himself saying, "but not at all like this."

His eyes had travelled to the rear view mirror, with its reflection of little Sam in the back seat, sleeping. _A son!_ Who would have imagined? The friendly toddler had taken an instant liking to him, but Jim could not help feeling resentful about the situation. Circumstances had cheated him out of David's childhood, and now he had missed this son's infancy, as well.

Just as they were turning onto the property, Antonia had asked, "There in the Nexus. Were you…alone?"

An uneasy feeling had sidled through his gut, but he had forced a light response. "Alone? No, there was an entire cast of characters to keep me entertained."

Now, at the sound of footsteps, Jim turned and received Lame Wolf's happy greeting.

"Welcome home, Uncle!" The teenager had grown considerably and matched Jim in height.

Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "The place looks great; you've done a good job."

"Spock's son, James, deserves equal credit," Lame Wolf explained. "He lived here while you were gone, but now he has moved back to Plum Creek."

"So I've heard. I'll have to thank him, too."

Antonia had Sam out of the car. Jim took the sleepy boy into his arms and carried him indoors.

To Antonia, it was like a dream come true. Now that Jim was safely home, she could hardly take her eyes off him. Her heart warmed at the tender way he held Sam.

"Better lay him down, he's still tired," she said. "It's the bedroom at the head of the stairs."

Once inside, she poured two glasses of iced tea and returned to the living room. By now, she had expected Tru to come bursting in, but when Jim came back down, there was only the two of them. Antonia offered him a glass. Taking a swallow, he turned and stared at the painting above the mantel.

Antonia came up behind him. Nervous and uncertain, she wavered. Then, overwhelmed by his nearness, she embraced him with her free arm and nestled against his back. She mean to say, _I love you…I want you._ That she was impatient for the moment when they could be alone, truly alone, and renew the intimacy that had been lost between them. Instead, she merely asked, "Are you hungry?"

Jim turned so abruptly that she was forced off-balance. Steadying herself, she looked into his eyes and glimpsed a stranger before he relaxed into a charming Kirk smile.

"Guess I'm a little jumpy," he said.

Up in her room, Tru counted the minutes. She had heard them enter the house, heard her father's footsteps as he went into Sam's room and came out again. She had held her breath, expecting him to knock on her door. Instead, he went downstairs.

Tears wet her cheeks, then dried. An hour passed. Mama came and spoke to her, but Tru did not have the courage to go down and face him.

Then, at last, he came. Lying on her bed, she stared at the ceiling.

"Tru," he said softly. "Tru, I'm home."

Holding tight to her emotions, she said, "You don't care about me."

She wanted him to put his arms around her and say, _"Where did you get that idea? Tru, you've always been my special girl."_ The father she remembered would have done it. Instead, he just turned around and left without a word.

oooo

Tru was not the same child that Jim remembered, and the change in her made his adjustment period even more difficult. He didn't know what to do about her, so he occupied himself with a steady round of welcome home parties. In between, he gave interviews to the press and appeared on popular programs shown all over the Federation.

Antonia finally said, "I'll be glad when everything settles down."

He only shrugged. "Would you deny me a little vanity?"

But it wasn't really a matter of vanity, at all, nor was it only the problem with Tru. He could not seem to connect emotionally with Antonia, either. Though he tried to act the part of an attentive husband, his heart wasn't in it. He was restless. The Nexus had been full of novelty and excitement—somewhat like his days as a starship captain—but now he found the plodding pace of life intolerably boring. In the daytime, he began to notice a strange feeling of pressure in his head, and he could hardly sit still. At night a shot of bourbon helped him relax and fall asleep, but soon one shot was not enough.

He no longer liked the ranch. Whatever made him think he could be content stuck on a mountain raising horses? He felt as if he was back in a wheelchair—a paraplegic, like when he first met Antonia. Trapped, half dead.

When public interest in him dwindled, he arranged for the construction of a landing pad and hangar in the upper meadow. This triggered a heated argument with Antonia, but his mind was made up, for he had successfully laid claim to the old Phantom Star. The retirement pay that Starfleet owed him easily financed the venture, and he decided to sell off some breeding stock, as well. He had lost interest in the Appaloosas. These days he only ventured into the stable to saddle up his favorite mounts for wild rides through the mountains. When he returned the horses heaving and lathered, Lame Wolf's disapproving look annoyed him.

The day of the horse sale arrived. Jim expected Lame Wolf to help show the stock, but the Indian rose early and rode away on his horse. Shortly after breakfast, Father O'Day drove into the yard, and Jim knew it was not by chance. Antonia must have called on her pastor for moral support. It would not be the first time since Jim's return.

Simmering with anger, Jim went out to meet the buyers as they arrived. He was in the midst of negotiating a sale when Tru came up and tugged on his arm.

"Dad." She had stopped calling him Daddy.

"Not now," he said.

She tugged again. "But Dad…"

He swung around and glared at her. "I said, not now! Can't you see I'm busy?"

Her tearful eyes pleaded with him. "But Dad, I'm getting kind of big for Shiloh, and you always promised me a horse." She pointed out the stable door, at some yearlings in the paddock. "I really like her…the little white filly…the one with hardly any spots."

Jim brushed her aside. "Forget it. I'm not keeping any of those."

"But Dad…" Her voice quavered. "Dad, you promised."

"I said no!" he repeated, and the little nuisance ran off.

Jim was selling the filly when Father O'Day came out of the house.

"What a nice little horse," the priest commented.

Obviously Tru had moaned about her mean, stingy father. "This nice little filly is helping pay for the Phantom Star's upkeep. Tru will get her share of rides in _that_."

O'Day got into his decrepit groundcar and glided away.

Later that evening, Antonia complained, "Jim, one little horse! How could you?"

It had been a long, trying day. Jim was pouring himself a stiff drink when Antonia gathered the children and bundled them into the car. By the time Lame Wolf finally made an appearance, Jim had emptied a bottle.

Struggling to his feet, he confronted the Shoshone youth. "Where the hell have you been?!"

Lame Wolf stopped and stared at him. "Far from here, Uncle. Away from you and your strange ways. Will you hit me, like my old Aunt Lydia's son?"

Jim's hands were clenched. His head throbbed with the odd, nagging pressure as he moved toward the youth. In the Nexus, he would not have hesitated to lash out, but here it was different. Here, he had to watch himself.

He snarled, "I can't depend on you anymore! If you don't want to do your share of the work, get out!"

The dark eyes shone with sorrow. Softly Lame Wolf said, "I will stay because Tru needs me."

"Needs _you?"_

But Lame Wolf said no more.

oooo

It was nearly midnight when Antonia drove in. With a heavy heart, she got Sam and Tru into bed and made herself a nest on the sofa, but sleep eluded her. Hour after hour, she lay listening to the night sounds, thinking of Jim. When she first met him years ago, he had been fighting alcoholism and ultimately won the battle. During their marriage he had rarely touched liquor, but now drinking had become an easy escape—from the tension between them, from the inner demons that made him so cold and testy.

In the morning, Lame Wolf and Tru picked at their breakfast and went off to school. Around ten, Jim downed a hangover remedy and dragged himself downstairs. Wrapped in his robe, he lay on the sofa, waiting for his stomach to settle. After a while he sat up, and rubbing at his chin, noticed Antonia seated in a chair, watching him. Sam was playing near her, on the floor.

Focusing on Sam, he said pleasantly, "There's my boy,"

Antonia gathered her courage. "Jim," she began.

"Don't say it," he snapped.

She said it anyway. "Look, maybe it's my fault as much as yours, but this drinking has to stop. You're hurting Tru and you're scaring Sam. And as for Lame Wolf…"

" _Your_ fault," he glowered. "Miss holier-than-thou?"

Stung by his sarcasm, she said, "I've never claimed to be holier than you or anyone else. Don't get defensive. We have a serious problem here."

"So I've been drinking a little too much. Don't worry, I'll cut back."

"No, Jim. You'll stop—stop completely."

"The hell I will!" By now, he was shouting. "There's no harm in a drink or two…"

"Or three," Antonia countered hotly, "or five, or seven! Where does it end?"

Whimpering, Sam dropped his toy and stared at them. Then he opened his mouth and wailed.

oooo

Strapped in beside her father, Tru felt the now-familiar tug of acceleration as the Phantom Star arced into the stratosphere and raced headlong toward an unknown destination. Her stomach felt tense and nauseous with dread. She hated riding with Dad in the Phantom, and Mama was dead set against it. Tru had been heading out to school when her father took her to the meadow and forced her to board the ship. There was going to trouble over this. There were going to be more arguments.

Tru sneaked a sidelong look at her father. His eyes seemed overly bright and his face looked flushed as he guided the ship into a series of aerobatic maneuvers.

"Hang on!" he said, as if she needed such a warning.

"Please don't," she begged. "I…I don't feel so good."

In the midst of a roll, he glanced her way and laughed. She smelled alcohol—the kind from the bottle he drank in the evening. It was bad enough smelling it at night, watching the golden liquor transform him into a frightening stranger. But this was broad daylight. The sun was barely up.

"Dad." Her voice quavered. "Mama's going to be mad."

He mimicked the words back to her. "Mama's going to be mad." Then he said, "I thought you were Starfleet material. Well? Aren't you?"

She started to cry. She couldn't help it. And then she couldn't help throwing up.

Now her father had no choice but to take her home, and his cutting words made it painfully clear how he felt about the inconvenience, and about her. The moment they landed, Tru ran toward the house. She could hear her father following her and ran harder.

Mama was standing by her car, getting ready for a drive to her art gallery. Sam was strapped inside, waiting. As Tru burst into the yard, Mama's mouth dropped open.

"Young lady…." she began, then noticed her soiled clothes. Catching sight of Dad coming, she turned her anger on him. "Jim, why isn't this child at school?"

Tru reached Mama's side and clung to her, out of breath.

Dad stopped a short distance from them and assumed an air of authority. Mama called it his "command face". "It's the last week of school," he said. "No one does much of anything the last week. Besides, she's sick, can't you see that?"

"Oh, I can see it," Mama replied hotly. "I heard the Phantom landing. That's why she's sick. You made her go up. You know how I feel about it, but you kept her out of school and took her up, anyway."

"It's educational," he said with importance. "We were galloping after the galactic ghosts."

That's what he called his flights in the Phantom—"galloping after the galactic ghosts".

"Ghosts!" Mama shot back. "More like spirits, right out of a bottle! You want to get yourself killed, is that it? Well, fine…but don't take our daughter with you!"

Dad looked furious. Tru could feel Mama trembling with emotion. Mama looked down at her and Tru saw tears in her eyes. In a strangely quiet voice, Mama said, "Go inside and get yourself cleaned up. I'll drive you to school."

Tru hurried into the house. Later in the car, Mama explained that Dad needed some time alone, that he had taken the Phantom and would not be coming home any time soon. But Tru had listened from a downstairs window. She knew that Mama had kicked Dad out, and just now, Tru was glad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jim wandered aimlessly for several days, before landing the Phantom at an airport in Boise. There he rented a skimmer and flew into Plum Creek. He was tired of being treated like a celebrity, and needed rest badly. The mountain was cloaked in darkness when he arrived. Spock led him to a room in the Yanashite seminary and lowered the temperature for human comfort. Alone, Jim drank himself into a fitful sleep, and rose unrefreshed, his head pounding. After a shower, he sat on the edge of his bed, sickened by the rush of his thoughts. He had struggled hard to leave the Nexus and regain his freedom. But there was nothing free about his life now. In the Nexus, anything had seemed possible. In this world, he couldn't seem to make anyone happy—including himself.

 _Selfish,_ Antonia had called him. _Out of control._ But she was the selfish one, barring him from his own home, his own children. Outraged, he had grabbed her arms with bruising strength and shoved her against the car. He had wanted to hurt her the way she was hurting him.

A tap on the door drew him from his dark reverie. Spock entered and extended an invitation to breakfast in the cabin. Jim looked at his Vulcan friend and could not help but remember the Nexus interludes with Spock's daughter, T'Beth. Guilt—that was another difference. In the Nexus, life flowed with little self-reflection. Anything could happen without troubling consequences. One just turned a new page and moved on.

More out of boredom than hunger, Jim accompanied Spock to the cabin that had formerly belonged to Jim's uncle, Lemuel. Here, as a boy, Jim had enjoyed many a summer visit. As a paraplegic man, he had fled here to quit drinking after Spock threatened him with rehab. Now he wondered how much Spock knew about his marital problems and the role liquor was playing.

They sat around the little table eating pancakes and talking pleasantries—Spock, T'Naisa, Jamie, and little Tess. Afterward, Tess ran to the piano and performed one of her remarkable renditions. As she played, Jim's eyes rose to a painting of the _Enterprise A_ above the piano.

Tess left the piano bench and hugged her father with deep affection. Their real-life closeness reminded Jim of how badly he had lost touch with his own daughter. To distract himself from the pain, he said, "That _Enterprise_ over there. Who painted it?"

Spock's eyebrow lifted infinitesimally.

T'Naisa answered, "Antonia painted it after…after you disappeared. She went into an outer space phase."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, and Jamie filled it. "Uncle Jim, I'll be leaving for the university soon. Can I pasture my horses with yours?"

Jim wrestled with embarrassment. Just now, he was not even welcome at the ranch. Though he was in no position to promise Jamie anything, he felt sure that Antonia and Lame Wolf would okay it. "Sure," he said at last, "but not your stallion—it's hard enough keeping Warcloud from tangling with Warrior."

Jamie nodded. "That's what I figured. I'm letting Phantom go. I think he'll bring a good price."

 _Phantom._ It was ironic that Jamie had chosen that particular name for the pure white stallion. He had captured the wild foal, along with its pinto mother, before Jim entered the Nexus.

"Too bad he's a mustang," Jim mused. "There was a time when I might have bought him myself, if he had a registered blood line."

Spock said, "I heard that you sold some of your breeding stock, that you have more interest in your ship than the remaining Appaloosas."

The words seemed critical to Jim and put him on the defensive. "Do you have a problem with that? It's my business, not yours."

The room filled with a palpable tension.

Spock quietly studied him. "Jim, I was making an observation, not a judgment."

Jim felt the pressure building in his head. It made him angry and restless. Rising, he bitterly remarked, "And they say Vulcans don't lie."

Striding from the cabin, he threw his belongings in the rented skimmer and took off.

oooo

Antonia sat in the loft before her easel, staring blankly at a half-completed seascape. After a month of effort, this was all that she had accomplished. Her heart was simply not in it. With a sigh, she set down her paintbrush. Her arms twinged where Jim had seized her and dug his fingers into her flesh. Absently she rubbed them, remembering his fearsome anger and the stillness that had come over her when she thought he would lash out with something more than words. But he had only shoved her, and then walked away.

Now that he was gone, the house was quiet—too quiet, except for Sam, who never stopped asking for his daddy.

Tears stung her eyes, and the seascape became a blur. "Oh Jim," she said softly. _What had become of him?_ Before the Nexus, they had experienced their share of problems, but she had always been sure of her husband's love. Now she did not know what to make of this surly, brooding stranger. Was it wrong of her to send him away? What other choice did she have? Was this her punishment for letting her heart wander?

Only one thing seemed certain. Their marriage was in ruins.

oooo

It was Tru's secret. Over the past two years, she had come frequently to this woodland retreat. Each time, she added a little something new—a native plant, a pretty rock, or a feather. At midday the summer sun streamed through a gap in the forest canopy and shone upon the shrine she had created. At its center, a wooden plaque topped the pretty mound of earth. On it, she had carved her father's name. James Tiberius Kirk.

Kneeling beside the mound, she longed for him—not the frightening, unpredictable man who had returned from the Nexus, but the daddy she remembered and loved. Tears moistened the handful of yellow flowers she had picked along the way. Yellow, like the bruises fading on Mama's arms.

A gentle touch settled on her shoulder. Wiping her eyes, she turned and found Lame Wolf standing over her. He was the only other person who knew of this sacred spot.

Looking up at his strong brown face, she admitted, "I don't like him anymore. Not the way he is now. He gets mad at everything."

"Yes," he said without a hint of reproach. He, too, had seen the change in her father, and mourned it.

Sinking to his knees beside her, he gazed up at the light streaming from above. In a soft, low tone he began to chant a Native American prayer.

oooo

Jim brought down his Phantom in Phoenix, Arizona, and stepped onto the blazing hot tarmac. Last night he had drunk himself sick at a bar on the outskirts of Tucson. Even there people had recognized him, and someone had captured him on camera. The unflattering picture was running in today's celebrity news, beneath a sensational headline. The days of adulation were over. The press was turning on him, like sharks gathering around a wounded swimmer.

Renting a groundcar, he drove over to Starfleet Medical Center and found Doctor McCoy in a back room, hunched over a biocomp. It was not the first time Jim had visited McCoy since returning to Earth.

"Well," the doctor said in greeting, "I see things have been going from bad to worse."

Jim clutched the side of his head and sank into a chair. "Bones, I'm not here to discuss my personal life. I'm worn out. This damn sensation of pressure won't let up…and now it's hurting like hell, too."

McCoy reached into his lab coat for a scanner and ran a quick diagnostic. After studying the readings, he switched off the instrument and gave Jim a long, hard look. "Aside from the aftereffects of boozing, you're in fine shape. I've told you before. There's nothing physically wrong with your brain." Settling into a chair, he continued. "As a physician, I'm trained to observe my patients. And as a friend, I've reached the same diagnosis. Jim, you're a very troubled man. I strongly suggest—"

"I know, I know," Jim cut him off irritably. "You have a degree in psychiatry, too."

McCoy nodded. "I don't say this lightly. You need to talk to someone."

"I don't want anyone analyzing me!" Jim snapped. "Least of all, you."

After a moment McCoy said, "Alright, then. What _do_ you want?"

To Jim, the answer was becoming more and more obvious. Downing a pain pill, he drove to the Pascal home in nearby Scottsdale.

T'Beth answered the door, and her face lit at the sight of him. She did not hesitate to invite him inside. Though she had lost the blush of youth, she had gained a graceful maturity that Jim found just as appealing. School was out. He soon learned that the older children were away at a weeklong church camp, the housekeeper was on vacation, and young Alex was napping. Jim had T'Beth all to himself, and his blood warmed at the thought.

T'Beth brought out tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Aaron will be home in a few hours," she told him. "Can you stay for dinner? We'll barbecue."

He gladly accepted the offer. Though he had never much liked Aaron Pascal, T'Beth's husband was one of the reasons for this visit. Now, for the first time, he spoke of the deep-seated urge that kept tormenting him. "I want to go back—to the Nexus."

T'Beth looked remarkably unsurprised. "The science vessel _Curie_ is still on site, observing the phenomenon. I bet they'd welcome your input."

She had misunderstood. She thought Jim wanted to study the energy ribbon, not enter it.

"The sooner they destroy it," she said, "the better."

Jim nearly choked on his lemonade. _"No!_ They mustn't destroy it."

T'Beth's gracefully arched brows drew together in a frown. "Jim, this Nexus devours everything…and _everyone_ in its path. After what you went through, I would think…"

He leaned forward. "You don't understand. It doesn't destroy life, it enhances it. Anything becomes possible—anything. Your sister Teresa was there. My mother, my dad, my brother Sam. And David—even my son David."

She searched his eyes. "Only dead people? What about your wife, your children, your friends. What about the living?"

He ignored her question. "The Nexus is everything you want it to be, and it's forever."

For a long moment T'Beth was silent. Then she said, "Jim. What the Nexus gave you wasn't real." Her hand rose and her fingers clamped into a fist. _"This_ is real. _Life…_ with all its pain, all its joy."

 _"What_ joy?" he asked bitterly.

"You once told me that family is everything—family and marriage. Jim, those are sacred bonds. You can't just…"

He broke in. "Don't try and judge me. You haven't been in the Nexus. You don't know what it's like. You don't know what it does to you."

"Jim."

She spoke his name so tenderly that his annoyance melted away. Suddenly he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Even after committing himself to Antonia, he had sometimes felt this way about Spock's daughter, and his stay in the Nexus—with its constant blurring of morality—had served to sharpen the old desire. But this was not the Nexus, and the time for romancing T'Beth was long past. She was a happily married woman, the mother of four children.

Jim settled back in his chair and held a painful silence.

After a moment T'Beth rose and said, "I'm going to call Aaron and let him know you're here."

She went down a hallway and held her conversation in private. When she returned, a sleepy brown-haired boy was in her arms.

oooo

Aaron came home a bit early, bringing along another guest. Her name was Guinan and she, too, had spent time in the Nexus. Although she appeared human, the dark-skinned woman had a strange quality that went beyond her mode of dress. Jim immediately felt drawn to her. Here was someone who knew—someone, at last, who could understand him.

"So you figured it out," she said as they stood together by the pool. "You can leave the Nexus any time you want. The trouble is, no one ever wants to leave."

"I wish _I'd_ never left," he admitted.

She offered a pleasant, close-lipped smile. "The place infects you. It's like a sickness, an obsession, the way it feeds the ego. 'I can be young again'. 'I can have whatever I want'. 'I can do anything'. It's all one big, sweet illusion, but it's so much fun, who cares?"

Her statement baffled him. "Like a sickness, you say…but you want to go back, don't you?"

Once again, that smile of hers radiated an inner peace that eluded him. "Reality is harder," she confided, "but more interesting."

"Well," Jim said with feeling, _"I'd_ go back in a minute."

Her dark eyes studied him. "Why?"

He struggled to come up with a response that would not sound utterly selfish. Before he could find the appropriate words, Guinan reached out suddenly and shoved him. Losing his balance, he fell into the pool. The water was closing over his head before he could react. Shocked and angry, he swam to the surface and sputtered as Guinan calmly gazed down at him.

"Reality is harder," she repeated, "but more interesting."

Aaron and T'Beth rushed over, and Aaron knelt at the pool's edge, extending his hand.

T'Beth, who thought he had accidentally fallen into the water, began to laugh. "Jim, really. If you wanted to go for a swim…"

He climbed out, soaking wet, and glowered at Guinan. T'Beth was still chuckling as she went to get a towel.

As Aaron returned to the barbecue, Guinan said, "In the real world you have to dry yourself off."

Jim kept out of her reach. "Shock therapy, is that it?"

Her eyes seemed to delve inside him. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life galloping after ghosts? Get a grip on yourself. Destroy the Phantom. It belongs to the Nexus and will keep drawing you back."

 _Galloping after ghosts?_ Hearing her use his own expression was unsettling, to say the least. Shaking it off, he accepted a towel from T'Beth, then went indoors and dried his clothes in her fresher. The shoes would take longer.

Soon it was time for dinner. They gathered at a table on the back porch. T'Beth bowed her head and offered a prayer before passing the barbecued chicken and side dishes. Jim had heard about her conversion to Christianity and found it as strange as Spock's involvement with the Yanashites. T'Beth sat at her husband's side and occasionally cast him a warm smile, which Aaron returned. The love that shone from their eyes made Jim envious.

Across the table, little Alex chewed on a drumstick and made a mess feeding himself. As Jim watched, he could not help thinking of his own son. Though he felt alienated from Antonia and Tru, there was still Sam.

Suddenly T'Beth said, "Jim, I hope you don't mind. I told Aaron that you want to leave us and go back into the Nexus."

Jim froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. Everyone was looking at him, waiting for his response. Realizing that Aaron's reaction would be no different from the others, Jim wished that he had never come. He felt trapped, out of sync, and badly in need of a drink.

With a self-deprecating smile, he replied, "It is a tempting thought. Life is so different there. Time has no meaning."

Aaron pumped him for more information, and Jim merely repeated the same old family-friendly stories. It would be pointless to ask him for help. From now on, he would follow none but his own counsel. And already a plan was forming.

oooo

The incoming call set Antonia's pulse racing. It was the first time she had heard from Jim since the day she sent him packing. _Would he be drunk? Would he be angry?_ With a feeling of dread, she transferred the call to the privacy of her bedroom.

"Hello Jim," she said levelly.

He smiled, close-lipped and contritely, like a guilty little boy.

"Toni…" he began. "I guess you're still pretty sore at me." He sounded dead sober.

Antonia drew in a slow breath. "Jim…believe me, I don't want to fight. I never wanted to fight. All I wanted was…" Her voice choked off as she struggled against sudden tears.

"I know," he said softly, "and you were right. I've had plenty of time to think about it."

Her eyes devoured his image. _Could it be? Had he made up his mind to change?_

Now there were tears in his eyes, too. All her life, Antonia had believed in miracles.

"Toni, I love you."

The tender words melted her heart. "Oh, Jim…Jim, I love you, too."

oooo

Dad was back home. Mama said that he could charm the spots off an Appaloosa, but Tru wondered what really lay beneath that display of amiability. All trace of liquor disappeared from the house, and he tended to the remaining horses instead of the Phantom, but in unguarded moments the look on his face sometimes chilled her.

One day she admitted to her mother, "He scares me."

"Don't say that," Mama replied. "Isn't he being nice to you?" But her voice sounded nervous and brittle.

Tru knew that Mama needed to have faith in Dad, but something was wrong. Yes, he acted nice, but that was the problem—it was as if he were _acting_. Lame Wolf sensed it, too, and helped Tru keep an eye on him. At times when Dad thought no one was looking, he walked the trail to the upper pasture where the Phantom Star was parked. And then he just stood there and stared at it.

oooo

Jim watched from the living room window as Antonia headed off in her groundcar. Her warm goodbye kiss still lingered on his lips. She would be gone at least a week, touring for new landscape subjects. All his effort had paid off—the strict sobriety, the feigned affection, the carefully scripted lovemaking. He had succeeded in regaining Antonia's trust, and now she had left him alone with the children.

Of course, old Father O'Day would check on him; she had probably made sure of that. But Jim had a surprise in store for her and her nosy priest. Any trace of guilt or regret were swept aside by a giddy rush of excitement. Tonight, when everyone was fast asleep, he would take Sam and go. The Phantom would eventually get them to the Nexus, planet-hopping along the way. As far as the legalities went, he was the boy's father. He had a right to travel with his own son, didn't he?

Of course, Antonia would see things differently. She always did. But he was not an unreasonable man, so he would leave Tru with her. The girl wouldn't want to come, anyway. It wasn't like the old days, when Tru favored him over her mother. In his absence, their relationship had changed. The Tru he remembered lived only in the Nexus. This distant young stranger who called him "Dad" would never even miss him.

Jim's gaze settled on Tru, playing with her ducks by the old barn, where an overnight cloudburst had left a puddle. A sudden memory from the Nexus reproached him. _She's your own daughter; don't you have any feelings about that?_ A simultaneous image flashed into his mind—Antonia distraught over the loss of her son and Jim's betrayal. He tried to push the painful thoughts from his mind. He did not want to hurt Antonia or any of them. But it couldn't be helped. It was the Nexus—the Nexus, calling to him. He _had_ to go back.

Jim set his jaw.

Just then, a dark shape loomed into his field of vision. Something slammed the window with startling force, but the glass held. Recovering his wits, he stepped out onto the porch and found a stunned quail fluttering about. The members of its covey were calling to it from every direction. Tru, who dearly loved birds, bounded onto the porch and stood beside him.

"No," she lamented. "Dad…Dad, help him! Don't let him die!"

As the bird floundered, another Nexus memory stirred. A strangely identical moment when he had thought, _This is me. I'm this bird ramming against the glass, helpless to stop myself…_

Reaching down, he gently took the bird into his hands. It grew still and closed its eyes, but he could see it was breathing.

"Is he going to die?" Tru asked tearfully. "I couldn't stand it if he died…like you did."

Jim looked at his daughter, and it was as if he were seeing her clearly for the first time since his return. Strawberry blonde like his mother, as sturdy as the colts she loved, but it was her eyes that held him. Those brown pools of wounded love reached deeply into his heart.

His throat tightened and he said, "But I didn't die."

"We thought you did. Even Spock cried. You were gone…you were gone such a long time and…"

"And what?" he prompted.

Her lips trembled. Her gaze fell. "It's like part of you is still gone—the _best_ part."

In his hands, the quail stirred. As its eyes opened, the feeling of pressure left Jim's head. His thoughts came into focus, and his conscience shrank from the terrible act he had planned for tonight. Cradling the bird, he stepped off the porch and set it on the damp earth. For a moment it sat perfectly still, then bursting into flight, it sailed to the edge of the clearing. The covey gathered together and disappeared into the woods.

Beside him, Tru spoke wistfully. "They're a family again. A real family."

Jim turned and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt her muscles stiffen, saw the wariness creep back into her eyes. She didn't trust him, and why should she?

"Tru," he said, "the Nexus left me like that little bird—all shaken up and confused. I know I've hurt you. I've made some big mistakes, but you can believe me now. We're still a real family…and from now on, we're going to act like it." And then he hugged her.

Her father's words filled Tru with fresh hope. That same night, a fire consumed the Phantom, leaving nothing but a gutted shell for the recyclers to collect. Tru suspected that Dad had burned it, since he did not seem the least bit sorry to see it go. And neither did she. Once the Phantom was collected, a work crew removed the launching pad and hangar from the upper pasture. In her joy, Tru saddled Shiloh and galloped the pony over the raw cut of earth. Dad said that the meadow would renew itself. Next summer, horses would be grazing there again—but no Phantoms, he promised. He was through galloping after ghosts. His breath no longer smelled of liquor, and after dinner he told stories, like in the old days. At bedtime he kissed her goodnight, and she lay awake savoring the day's memories while the downstairs clock chimed.

oooo

Jim stood in a shadowy corner of the stable, watching Lame Wolf groom his stallion. At each stroke of the brush, Warrior's gray coat gleamed with vitality. They were a pair, those two—both young and strong, with all of their lives before them. Jim was glad that he had taken the Shoshone orphan into his home. Sometimes he felt as if he had learned more from the steady young man than Lame Wolf had learned from him. Another year, and Lame Wolf would graduate from high school. Would he follow Jamie to a university or set out on some other path? Either way, Jim was going to miss him.

Jim stepped from his secluded spot, but his presence came as no surprise to the alert Indian.

"Uncle," the youth acknowledged, pausing in his work to look at Jim.

"Duncan." Jim used his ward's legal name. "We'll be purchasing a few mares to replace the stock I sold off. Tru's birthday is coming up. I thought we might find her a little filly, too—mostly white, like the one she wanted."

Lame Wolf smiled, flashing his straight white teeth.

Jim cleared a thickness from his throat. "Thanks. For sticking by Antonia and the children…for putting up with my…readjustment. You've been a real man."

The Indian stood tall and proud. With tears in his eyes, he said, "We missed you."

Jim swallowed hard, and as he turned to leave, Lame Wolf spoke again.

"Uncle."

Jim stopped and looked back.

Lame Wolf stepped toward him, his strong face earnest. "Uncle, there is a horse that Tru likes. Jamie's white stallion is for sale."

A stallion. And of all things, named Phantom. But as Shakespeare said, _"What's in a name?"_ After considering the matter, Jim went ahead and arranged for the purchase. Phantom would visit the veterinarian, then come to the ranch on Tru's birthday.

oooo

That evening, Jim left Sam and Tru in Lame Wolf's care and flew the skimmer into Pinehaven for an appointment. His mental outlook was improving, but Doctor McCoy had been right. He needed professional help, and he needed it now, before Antonia returned from her trip. But he had someone other than a psychiatrist in mind—someone who specialized in the pain of a guilty conscience.

With a warm smile, Father O'Day welcomed him into the rectory of Our Lady of Victory Parish. "Well Jim, it's nice to see you…and after I stopped by, only this morning…"

Jim's hostility toward the priest had dissipated, but he could not resist saying, "Yes, you've been keeping a sharp eye on me."

"Now, now," O'Day soothed, "I was merely…"

"Helping out Antonia, I know. And with good reason, too." Jim steeled himself. "It's because of Antonia that I'm here. There's something I want to tell you."

They entered a study where a painting of Christ as the Good Shepherd hung on a wall.

"Do sit down," said the priest.

Jim settled uneasily into a worn but serviceable chair, and O'Day sat across from him.

"I'm not a churchgoer," Jim said, as if O'Day was not already quite aware of that fact.

"You don't have to be a churchgoer to talk to a priest," O'Day countered with the kindness typical of him—the unfailing kindness that had drawn Jim here on this weekday night.

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Jim admitted, "I never quite know how to address you."

"My name is Phineas."

"Alright. Phineas."

Silence descended over the room. The priest rose and went to a side table. Pulling a lever on a beverage dispenser, he produced two frothy brown drinks.

"Rigellian pod-coffee," he said, handing a mug to Jim. "Tastes a lot like ours, only calming to the nerves. But you've probably had it before."

"Once or twice." Jim took a sip and eased back in his chair. "Thank-you…Phineas. It's very good."

The priest sat and smiled at him. "When I think of all your travels; oh, the tales you tell—I've always enjoyed them. And now the Nexus. Two years?"

"One year, eleven months, and ten days," Jim recited.

Phineas chuckled. "My, but you had a fine funeral Mass."

"A Mass? But I'm not Catholic."

"Yes, but your wife and children are. You've had a great many of us praying for your soul, and every prayer has its effect. Perhaps ours helped, in some measure, to guide you back home." He paused for a leisurely swallow of coffee before asking, "There in the Nexus, was it hard on you?"

For a moment, Jim just let the memories wash over him. They seemed more distant now—all, that is, but the incidents he wanted most of all to forget. Sharp as ever, they tore at him until he set down his mug, determined to confide in Phineas and seek his advice. But shame made him waver.

The priest eyed him with compassion. "You haven't been happy. And I can see that you're finding it hard to speak to me. A ways up the road, there's a pleasant Yanashite fellow—those pointed ears of his listen well."

"Spock?" Jim shook his head adamantly. "No, not for this."

"He's your friend."

Yes, and Jim had taken the time to mend his friendship with the Vulcan, but this matter involved Spock's own daughter. Drawing a deep breath, he stared down at his hands and admitted, "In the Nexus…I was …with a woman. She wasn't Antonia, and no, she wasn't Spock's wife, either." Fighting embarrassment, he forged on. "This woman is someone I know…someone I've known for years. All along, I've…I've had an attraction to her."

"I see," said the priest. "So…in the Nexus…you acted on those feelings. You sampled the forbidden fruit. And when you got home?"

Jim thought back to the moment in T'Beth's living room when he would have loved another taste of that fruit, but thankfully he could look Phineas in the eye and say, "Nothing's happened here. But for a while I wanted to go back to the Nexus and take Sam with me. I had it all planned. I made Antonia believe everything was fine. And now…" His voice faltered. "Now I feel so damn dishonest…I feel as if I should confess the whole thing to her, but…"

"But oh my, the poor woman," O'Day finished for him. The old priest steepled his fingers in a way that reminded Jim very much of Spock. Then he said, "So you've changed your plans, then. You're staying?"

Jim nodded. "If she'll have me."

After some thought, Phineas said, "Telling Antonia what you had planned would likely add more strain to your marriage. As for the Nexus—what happened there may have seemed real to you, but so does a vivid dream while you're dreaming it."

"You call it a dream, but what about the ship? The Phantom I flew out of the Nexus was real enough."

The priest stretched out his legs and considered. "Now there's a mystery. But we're not talking about phantom ships, Jim. We're talking about flesh and blood women. It was a ship you brought out of the Nexus, not a lover. And from what I understand about that place, you weren't acting in full conscience or complete freedom. Perhaps you were incapable of making informed decisions." Phineas encouraged him with a warm smile. "Thank God you've awakened, Jim. Leave your dreams in the hands of the Lord and put them behind you. You're home now, and this is a new day. Be patient with yourself, be patient with Antonia. Those missing years were hard on both of you."

Jim felt the tension easing from his body. He would follow the priest's advice. He would leave the past behind him and start fresh. Antonia was as solid as the earth—the mother of his two children. How could he not love her?

oooo

"Hello…hello, Jim?" The image on the wrist phone was so small that Antonia felt as if she had to shout. "How's everything?"

"Everything here is fine," Jim answered. "How about you?"

He seemed sober. In the background, she heard Tru and Sam at play. Relaxing, she said, "I just ate dinner at a nice little restaurant. It has the most beautiful view, but I'm getting kind of homesick…"

"Come back then," he urged. "I have a surprise waiting for you."

"A surprise?" She hesitated. "Father O'Day said that you stopped by…" Jim's smile froze. "He said you had a nice visit. You're not thinking of converting, are you? Is that the surprise?" She laughed at the idea.

He laughed, too, and said, "You know me better than that. Hurry on back and you'll find out."

oooo

The sun's heat rippled the air, but Tru kept running up the ranch road, thinking she had heard a distant groundcar. She was too excited to sit indoors, where it was cooler. Today Mama was coming home.

She stopped to rest in the shade of a pine tree. Not a breeze stirred. This time of day, even the birds were still.

Suddenly she heard a sound—up ahead, just around the bend. She was sure it. Her heart pounding, she leaped to her feet just as the car flew into sight.

"Mama, Mama!" she yelled, waving her arms.

Mama waved back and lowered the car to the road so Tru could get inside. Even before they finished hugging, Tru burst out with a flood of news. It did not matter that Dad had sworn her to secrecy, that he wanted to save the surprises for today and tell Mama in his own way. Tru was too excited to hold back.

"Mama, the Phantom is gone—it burned up, and Dad is letting the pasture grow back! No more galloping after ghosts, ever! Things are going to be different, Mama, really different like before! Dad says!"

"Well," Mama said, looking as if she could hardly believe it.

They drove up to the house. Dad came outside and met Mama in the yard. For a moment, the two of them just stood and looked at one another.

Then Mama said, "Tru's brought me up to date. Is the Phantom really gone?"

Dad cast Tru an accusing glance, but Tru could tell that he was not very angry—not like before, when he used to frighten her.

She shrugged. "Sorry, Dad…it just popped out."

Mama gazed into Dad's eyes. "All this happened while I was away. Maybe I should turn around and take another trip."

"No," Dad said firmly.

Mama stiffened. "So you're ordering me around, is that it?"

Dad did not say anything. Instead, he stepped close to Mama and kissed her lips so gently that she melted into his arms. Tru turned around, giggling and red-faced, but very happy.

oooo

The morning of Tru's tenth birthday dawned warm and bright. Jim had promised her a day of fishing at Little Kirk Lake. After breakfast, Antonia packed a hamper full of sandwiches, fruit, and cupcakes. Leaving Sam with a babysitter, they mounted their horses and set off—all except Lame Wolf, who had left earlier to take care of some "ranch business".

"Don't worry," Jim said to his daughter. "He'll catch up."

He smiled as he watched her legs dangle below her pony's belly. Poor Shiloh, but this was last time the pony would be lugging Tru on his back. Soon Sam would be riding Shiloh, instead.

The sun was warm on their shoulders as they approached the oversized pond.

"Hurry up!" Tru shouted, urging her pony into a gallop. Suddenly she pulled up on the reins and pointed toward a stand of trees. "Look! Jamie must be here! That's his stallion!"

All three of them rode over to the white horse. In her excitement, Tru failed to notice that the saddle and tack belonged to the Kirk ranch. Hoof beats sounded behind them, and Lame Wolf cantered up on Warrior as if he had just now arrived.

Jim dismounted and walked over to the mustang. Untying his reins from a tree branch, he offered them to Tru. "Well, kiddo…he's yours now. Happy birthday."

Tru's face lit with rapture. Leaping off Shiloh, she ran to the horse and hugged his handsome arched neck.

"Jim!" Antonia was indignant. "Jim, that's a stallion!"

He was ready for her objection. _"Was_ a stallion," he corrected. "Take a look. He's been gelded, and that will gentle him down. He's well trained, tough, and sure-footed. He'll make her a fine saddle horse."

Tru let go of Phantom and threw her arms around Jim. "Oh, thank-you, thank-you! I would never have guessed. It's the best present ever." Her head tipped back, and her shining eyes lavished him with love. "Oh, Daddy…I'm so glad you're home."

 _Daddy._

Jim's heart swelled with emotion as he returned his daughter's embrace. Antonia's flash of temper gave way to a smile. As they walked down to the lake, she squeezed his hand, leaned close, and whispered an endearment. Time seemed to slow, and for once Jim welcomed the familiar pace of reality. There was no hurry, for the whole day stretched before them.

The fish were biting. Jim lined up with his family at the lake's edge and cast his hook into the clear blue water. At his side, Tru happily hauled in a bass and added it to the growing string of fish bound for Antonia's frying pan that evening.

"Nice catch," he told her.

Tru added fresh bait to her hook. On the verge of casting, she paused with a serious expression. "Daddy…remember how you promised no more phantoms in the pasture?"

 _Ah, yes. Here it was. The name_. "Well, Tru…he's yours now. If you don't like what Jamie called him, change it."

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

"Really. So…what's it going to be? Thunderhead? Lightning?"

"No." She offered a hopeful smile. Clearly his approval of her choice was important to her. "I think I'll name him…Promise."

 _An overdue promise._ Jim gave a rueful chuckle. "I like it. That's perfect, Tru."

Then the pole jerked in his hands, and he was reeling in another fish.


End file.
